


Your name, sacred to my lips

by Salambo06



Series: Tumblr Collection [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Femlock, Genderswap, POV Sherlock Holmes, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt: "Okay so like one of those soulmate AUs where fem Sherlock grows up with the word 'John' on her wrist, and she's 100% sure she's a lesbian so she resents it with a burning passion. Every time she meets a man named John she immediately shuts him down as harshly as she can, horrified at the idea of being his soulmate. Then one day fem John Watson walks into St Barts and the second she introduces herself Sherlock immediately knows"</p><p>A story told in moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your name, sacred to my lips

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> [My Tumblr](http://letthechoirsing.tumblr.com/)

Sherlock is three the first time she's able to read her inscription by herself. 

Of course her mother had read it to her countless times, and even Mycroft had agreed to from time to time, but Sherlock can't help but smile as the four letters on her skin finally make sense to her. 

John.

She likes this name. She likes the way it slides against her tongue and the curve of the J. She writes it when she's alone, trying out different styles but likes the one on her wrist the best. 

Sherlock holds her arm close to her chest late at night, whispering the unique one syllable word into the darkness and falls asleep with her whispers echoing in the room.

~~

At age nine, Sherlock realises there's something wrong.

She's been attending this new school for two months and this is the first time there is a John in her class, sitting two seats in front of her and coming to talk to her after class.

Sherlock leaves without a single word and locks herself in one of the school’s closets. She stares down at the name on her wrist and bites down her lower lip.

John is a boy’s name, and for the first time Sherlock realises it's going to a problem. A big one.

~~

For the next four years, Sherlock watches as dozens of John’s come to ask her to show them her inscription, telling her they might be her soulmate, and they definitely should sit together in class.

Sherlock watches and listens and tries her best not to snap. She has promised her parents she will try to behave in school, to stop correcting the teachers and deducing the lives of her classmates. 

She doesn't say anything when yet another John comes to sit next to her and tries to talk about the weather or the class, or worse, himself. She doesn't say anything and waits for him to get bored, call her a freak and leave. 

Sherlock is thirteen and she goes to bed every night wishing she understood what was wrong with her inscription.

~~

The answer arrives three months before Sherlock’s fourteenth birthday, and her name is Victoria.

Victoria runs into Sherlock one morning, falling on top of her and Sherlock finds herself unable to move. 

Victoria’s hair smells absolutely divine, a mix of mint and honey, and Sherlock wants to close her eyes and bury her nose inside her soft curls.

“I’m sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going,” Victoria apologises as she stands up. “Are you alright?”

Sherlock blinks, once, twice, before hurrying to get back on her feet, “I’m fine.”

“And I'm Victoria,” Victoria laughs and the light sound makes Sherlock’s stomach flutter. 

Sherlock allows herself to smile, “Sherlock, I'm Sherlock.”

“Nice to met you, Sherlock.”

~~

Victoria doesn't have Sherlock’s name on her wrist.

Instead there is “Anthony” written on her gold skin and Sherlock tries not to stare at it too much.

Sherlock isn't sure if they are friends, but she now eats with her at every lunch and Victoria comes to her house a couple times to study. 

Mummy loves her, she fusses about her to Sherlock during diner and Sherlock focuses on her plate, hating the way she can feel her cheeks flush at the mere mention of the dress Victoria was wearing today.

She needs to find a way to take back control over her body, she can't let herself feel like this. It isn't safe.

~~

Sherlock dreams about Victoria.

She dreams about kissing the skin just under her ear, where one single freckle stands.  
She dreams about laying down next to Victoria when they go to the park, and sometimes, she even dreams about taking her hand and lacing their fingers.

Sherlock dreams about Victoria and wakes up hating the name on her wrist.

~~

By the time Sherlock reaches fifteen, Victoria has moved away and Sherlock has managed to convince herself that was for the best.

It doesn't matter anyway.

Meeting Victoria had just been one way of realising Sherlock would do anything to never meet her soulmate.

~~

High school is a living hell.

“Hey, I saw your wrist earlier and turns out my name is John, maybe we should go out sometime?”

“Hi gorgeous, wanna find out if our wrists match?”

“Hi, I’m John, what's your name?”

Uni is even worse.

~~

Sherlock stares at the mirror.

Her hair has grown rather quickly since her last haircut and it was now resting against her shoulders, curls bouncing when she walked. People liked it, she's noticed. They tend to talk to her more freely when she lets them hang down. 

“This one, right?” The store manager asks and Sherlock nods.

“Yes.”

She takes the coat and puts it on. She smiles. It suits her, dark and somehow elegant, it makes the brightness in her eyes stand out.

“It's perfect,” the man says and Sherlock crosses his stare in the mirror.

“I'll take it.”

He smiles, “You can keep it on.”

Sherlock pays him, already enjoying the warm fabric. 

“I’m sorry but,” the man says as she's about to leave and Sherlock turns to face him, “I've noticed your wrist and I happen to be called John, so I-”

Sherlock is out of the store before he can finish.

~~

The day Sherlock walks of rehab, DI Lestrade’s number in her pocket and Mycroft next to her, and she promises herself she won't touch drugs ever again.

Even if that means facing a reality where she'll have to be alone.

~~

“You can't just leave like that!”

“It's not my fault if your entire team is too slow, Lestrade.”

“You know they've already had a tough time accepting your help on cases,” Lestrade sighs, “You could at least try to be nice, make them your friends.”

“I'm not here to make friends.”

“Well, good job doing just that then!”

Sherlock stares at him, “Maybe we could focus back on the missing kid now?”

“Yes, sure, whatever you say.”

~~

One of the women in Lestrade’s team, Anna, single, new to this department, is flirting with her.

She had been glancing in her direction for the last ten minutes and smiling every time Sherlock catches her eyes. Her entire attitude is screaming sexual attraction, staring at Sherlock’s breasts when she thinks she can't see her and biting downs her lower lip when her eyes venture lower.

For a minute, Sherlock considers following her to her place and spending the night there. She has been wondering anyway, thought about experiencing sex at least one time, and clearly Anna is only looking for a one night thing.

Wouldn't it be nice to know, just this time?

“Sherlock, come over here!”

Sherlock shakes her head. She doesn't have time for these futile thoughts.

~~

The Johns keep coming.

Sherlock meets at least one of them each month, and everytime the same fear invades her. 

What if this one is her soulmate? What if he has Sherlock’s name on his wrist and refuses to go away?

Sherlock stays inside her flat as much as she can, busies herself with cases and experiments, and shuts down every John that cross her path with harsh deductions and glaring stares.

Sometimes, she wonders why she's even trying anymore.

~~

Some nights, she wakes up panting, the images of a curved body and tender skin still lingering in her mind. When the need is too strong, too overwhelming, Sherlock slides one hand down her chest and stomach, fingers rubbing at the wetness between her legs and comes with a silent scream.

She closes her eyes again, her wrist hidden under the pillow next to her and forces herself back to sleep.

~~

Sherlock can't explain it, but the moment Mike walks in and she crosses the woman’s eyes next to him, she knows.

She talks before she can think, heart already beating faster. 

“Here, use mine,” the woman offers.

She's looking directly at her, and Sherlock breathes slowly before answering, “Oh. Thank you.”

Mike speaks, turning Sherlock’s world around, “It's an old friend of mine, John Watson.”

Sherlock wants to laugh and cry at the same time.

~~

“I don't even know your name!”

Sherlock looks back at John, a knot in her stomach and a ridiculous hope growing as the second passes.

“The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street.”

John freezes in front of her, her fingers coming to caress the inscription on her wrist automatically and Sherlock’s heart is pounding in her ears.

Then John smiles and Sherlock forgets how to breathe properly.

~~

John agrees to meet her at the flat the next day.

John calls her _amazing, extraordinary, brilliant._

John stands up to Mycroft.

John kills a man for her.

John giggles at a crime scene afterwards.

John. John. John.

~~

Three knocks against Sherlock’s bedroom door, quick, determined, and Sherlock realises what is going to happen before she can answer.

“Come in.”

John smiles at her as she enters, taking in Sherlock’s bedroom with one look before closing the door behind her. The smell of Chinese food is still lingering in the flat and Sherlock can't help but remember John’s laugh as she told her about one of her previous cases earlier.

Sherlock doesn't say anything as John walks towards her, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the silent room.

John stops when she close enough for Sherlock to feel her breathing against her lips. John is staring up at her, not moving except for the two fingers sliding down Sherlock’s naked forearm and stopping over her wrist. 

John doesn't look at the name written there, eyes not leaving Sherlock’s. She must know, must have guessed by now.

John licks her lips and Sherlock’s eyes follow the movement, breath catching and her entire body shivering as John arches up her head and seals their lips together.

Part of Sherlock knows she should be cataloging the exact feeling of John’s mouth against hers, but for now she lets John slide her tongue between her lips and forgets about anything else.

~~

Sherlock’s hands fit perfectly in the curve between John’s lower back and arse, and if she arches her back just enough, with John’s warm body above her, Sherlock can almost feel every inch of their skins touch.

There is a scar on John’s shoulder and Sherlock kisses it reverently. There are two moles just under her right nipple and Sherlock tastes them both for long seconds. There is a softness around John’s belly and Sherlock feels the uncontrolled urge to bury her head against it, breathing her in.

John talks, praises her, as she kisses down Sherlock’s neck, breasts and belly. She breathes words of passion into Sherlock’s burning skin. She leaves invisible marks, ephemeral traces of her lips and fingers, and Sherlock is certain she will never be able to think properly again. 

Then John’s mouth makes Sherlock’s head spin and her entire world stop.

~~

“I've looked for you for years,” John murmurs long hours later. “Everywhere.”

Sherlock kisses her, pressing their bodies even closer together. 

“I've come to believe I wasn't meant to meet you.” She slides her hand up Sherlock’s back and nape, threading her fingers through her hair, “I've never been so glad to be wrong.”

Sherlock recaptures her mouth, still trying to determine John’s exact taste before whispering, “So am I.”

~~

There is a name written across Sherlock’s wrist.

Sherlock used to whisper it reverently before learning to hate it with every fiber of her body.

There is a name written across Sherlock’s wrist, and there’s nothing wrong with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are very appreciated !


End file.
